Facing the Flag eBook

How long this mental trouble lasts I cannot say.
But I afterwards find myself on the Beehive side,
opposite the cell in which I cannot hope for either
repose or sleep. Sleep, when my brain is in a
whirl of excitement? Sleep, when I am near the
end of a situation that threatened to be prolonged
for years and years?

What will the end be as far as I am personally concerned?
What am I to expect from the attack upon Back Cup,
the success of which I have been unable to assure
by placing Thomas Roch beyond the possibility of doing
harm? His engines are ready to be launched, and
as soon as the vessels have reached the dangerous
zone they will be blown to atoms.

However this may be, I am condemned to pass the remaining
hours of the night in my cell. The time has come
for me to go in. At daybreak I shall see what
is best for me to do. Meanwhile, for aught I know
I may hear the thunder of Roch’s fulgurator
as it destroys the ships approaching to make a night
attack.

I take a last look round. On the opposite side
a light, a single light, is burning. It is the
lamp in Roch’s laboratory and it casts its reflection
upon the waters of the lake.

No one is about, and it occurs to me that the pirates
must have taken up their lighting positions outside
and that the Beehive is empty.

Then, impelled by an irresistible instinct, instead
of returning to my cell, I creep along the wall, listening,
spying, ready to hide if I hear voices or footsteps.

I at length reach the passage.

God in heaven! No one is on guard there—­the
passage is free!

Without giving myself time to reflect I dart into
the dark hole, and grope my way along it. Soon
I feel a fresher air—­the salt, vivifying
air of the sea, that I have not breathed for five months.
I inspire it with avidity, with all the power of my
lungs.

The outer extremity of the passage appears against
the star-studded sky. There is not even a shadow
in the way. Perhaps I shall be able to get outside.

I lay down, and crawl along noiselessly to the orifice
and peer out.

Not a soul is in sight!

By skirting the rocks towards the east, to the side
which cannot be approached from the sea on account
of the reefs and which is not likely to be watched,
I reach a narrow excavation about two hundred and
twenty-five yards from where the point of the coast
extends towards the northwest.

At last I am out of the cavern. I am not free,
but it is the beginning of freedom.

On the point the forms of a few sentries stand out
against the clear sky, so motionless that they might
be mistaken for pieces of the rock.

On the horizon to the west the position lights of
the warship show in a luminous line.

From a few gray patches discernable in the east, I
calculate that it must be about five o’clock
in the morning.

November 18.—­It is now light enough
for me to be able to complete my notes relating the
details of my visit to Thomas Roch’s laboratory—­the
last lines my hand will trace, perhaps.